


Death by Chocolate

by sno4wy



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Chocolate, Crack, Fanart, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-10-27 22:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17775296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sno4wy/pseuds/sno4wy
Summary: Jarlaxle learns of a holiday known as "Valiant Times" from an exotic traveler. He becomes enamored with the idea and is determined to celebrate it with Entreri.(Warning: contains bad Valentine's Day cards within >_>)





	1. Chapter 1




	2. Chapter 2

“Violets are not blue.”

Entreri was frowning, but Jarlaxle knew from his friend’s raised eyebrow that the human’s ill humor was feigned. 

The drow shrugged. “A flawed axiom perhaps, but nonetheless I find it rather endearing.”

“You find false equivalencies and failed analogies endearing?” The assassin’s thin lips were drawn in a tight line, but amusement danced in his dark eyes. “Has the sharp blade that is Jarlaxle been dulled so much by the passage of time that he finds incompetence amusing?" 

The mercenary simply chuckled, the lyrical sound softening the tight line on the assassin’s face. It relaxed into a puzzled frown. "Is the butchering of language where this ‘hella’ comes from too?”

“Hardly 'butchering’, my  _abbil_! To my understanding, it is the slang of the parts whence I learned the word.”

“Slang, or, in other words, butchering of proper language.”

Jarlaxle folded his arms. It was his turn to frown. “Must you always be so contentious?”

Fully into their role reversal, Entreri laughed. “No, but that would take the fun out things for you, would it not?”

The drow conceded with a nod, the frown lasting as long as it ever did on his handsome features. 

“I’m impressed that you’re capable of drafting,” came the assassin’s voice from behind the card. “A crude imitation, but sufficiently possessing of your characteristic shamelessness. But why did you go through the trouble of all of this–”

Entreri looked up to find the drow tipping a small ornate box at his face.

“Now what?” the assassin asked as he pushed the box down.

Jarlaxle lifted it again. “It’s also for you.”

Entreri frowned at the item. “Why? What is it?”

Jarlaxle insistently albeit gently shook it in his friend’s face. “Open it and see for yourself.”

Entreri backed up a step. “And if I do, will I be sprayed by one of your perfumes?”

The mercenary donned a hurt look. “No, of course not.”

“A barrage of flower petals it is then, and judging by the card, roses and violets?”

Jarlaxle turned the box towards himself and pushed open the lid, letting out a small and measured sigh. “Truly, you are always so contentiously cautious." 

The assassin chuckled at the ire in his companion’s tone. His returning quip, however, was replaced by wonder as his companion turned the box back towards him to present a silk-wrapped object nestled amidst a cushioned interior.

"A magical trinket?” Entreri quirked an eyebrow. “I have no need for such things.”

The facade of hurt was back on the mercenary’s face. “My  _abbil_ , you do wound me so, to believe that after all of our time together, that I’d not know your dislike of magical trinkets!”

Entreri snorted. “Yet you still press them unto me at every opportunity.”

“Not so!” Jarlaxle exclaimed. “Why, I assure you right now that this is quite mundane." 

The assassin folded his arms. "Quite mundane, yet wrapped in fine silk and resting in an ornate box.”

“Mundane as I would allow from a gift from me to be,” the drow returned with a wink. “Please, my dear Artemis, some trust in me?”

Entreri looked suspiciously at the box, then at the card in his hand, and sighed with resignation. The use of only one dexterous hand was sufficient to extract the object from its silken shroud, and the assassin procured a curious tubular object. It was almost as dark as his companion’s skin, its shape calling to his mind images of the vases that lined Pasha Pook’s shelves. Except this “vase” was sealed and rounded on both ends and lacked the fine brushwork that embellished the late Pasha’s collections.

The assassin turned the odd object about in his hands. A muffled rattling met his ears.

“An instrument of some sort?” Entreri’s gray eyes were stormy with confusion.

Jarlaxle shook his head. “Chocolate!” he proclaimed proudly.

“Chocolate?” the assassin echoed dubiously. The color of the object was darker than even the purest cocoa-based confection that he’d seen. He lifted it to his nose for a whiff, and found that the scent more closely resembled cocoa… if it had been left burning in the fire for many bells.

“A ridiculous card, and now a poor facsimile of chocolate… what’s this about, Jarlaxle?”

The drow grandly swept both arms out, the elaborate gesture causing Entreri to groan to himself. He knew immediately that his companion had been waiting for this exact moment to tell his tale. Briefly, the assassin considered dragging a hand down his visage, turning and walking away, even clamping a hand over the mercenary’s mouth. In the end however, he simply dropped into a crossed-leg sitting position.

Jarlaxle blinked at the expectant gray gaze staring up at him. The lack of the expected resistance put him at an uncharacteristic loss of words, but only momentarily. Grinning wide, he touched one hand to his chest, the other one performing a flurry to the east, as though it were a bird taking flight. 

“I happened upon an exotic traveler–" 

The word "exotic” drew an audible groan from Entreri, which only widened Jarlaxle’s grin. 

“He wore a most magnificent long coat, red as a cardinal’s breast, and the thick furs lining his hat and boots suggested that he’d traveled from cold lands afar. I’d never seen any fashions quite like what he donned in the Frozenfar, so I surmised he must’ve come from elsewhere perhaps even beyond Vaasa!" 

The mention of the Cold Lands sharpened the glare fixated on the demonstrative drow dangerously.

However, Jarlaxle, long used to his friend’s steel and flint, was hardly affected. 

"I do believe he was a priest of some sort–” He thought he felt a blade’s edge tickle his skin. “–but the poor fellow was most out of sorts! He continually spoke of a lost signal, and asked me to lend him my fane so that he could contact his fellows.”

“You should’ve taken him to Menzoberranzan,” Entreri remarked dryly.

Jarlaxle chuckled. “Nay, it was all I could do to convince him that I had no such thing, he must’ve been a very devout follower of the gods, for truly it seemed incomprehensible to him that persons without a place of worship might exist He all but insisted that I must have a 'cell fane’, which does suggest a rather ascetic devotion to worship!”

“Truly a shame that you didn’t introduce him to the Priestesses of Lolth.”

“The poor fellow looked as though he was about to break down and cry!”

“And Jarlaxle’s heart is so big that he most certainly could not endure the sight of a strange man crying." 

"Exactly!” Jarlaxle nodded heartily. “Truly, it would not befit my conscience to leave him so! I gathered that he came from a very idyllic place, fields of green moss upon which plump cows grazed, in a faraway land untainted by greedy nobles and demon lords. I think I would very much like to see such a place one day.”

Entreri emphatically cleared his throat. He guided the drow’s gaze with his own down at his index finger tapping against his leg. 

Jarlaxle took the cue, but his talking speed did not increase.. “I guided him to the nearest town, whereupon I personally secured him a hot meal and a bed for the night. He was loathe to let me go, but I insisted that I must, for I was meeting one whom I so greatly cherished–”

“Which is why you’re a day late.”

“Desperate to keep me by his side, he regaled me with riveting tales,” the mercenary spoke over the assassin as if the human hadn’t vocalized at all. “Apparently, he was a scholar, one with a great deal of interest and knowledge of various societies and cultures. He told me about a custom from his land, a major holiday that occurs around this time every year by the name of 'Valiant Time’, which apparently entails poetry containing what you described as 'false equivalencies and failed analogies’, and the gifting of chocolate.”

“I can see why you became so enamored of it.” The assassin’s finger stopped tapping, his hand lifting to rub his forehead. It fell away after failing to ease the skepticism written in the lines of his angular features. “Let me guess, he then instructed you in making this card, and gave you this chocolate to give to me.”

“Exactly so!” Jarlaxle’s exclamation caused Entreri’s eyes to boggle. 

“Why would a man that you’d just met expend so much effort?”

“Why would a man that he’d just met personally escort him to safety, then buy him dinner and a room?”

“Perhaps so that the opportunistic drow would have a bed to share.”

Jarlaxle looked hurt again.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was he not attractive enough for you?”

Actual pain crept into the ruby eyes, stabbing the assassin’s heart with a pang of guilt. It deepened when he happened to catch sight of the card out of the corners of his eyes.

“My thanks,” Entreri gruffly mumbled and bit into the tubular object. The mouthful fell to pieces easily enough between his teeth, and although he waited, rolling each bit around his tongue, he found no trace of sweetness or even bitterness. Rather, the whole thing tasted quite bland whilst filling his nostrils with the scent of burning. Unwittingly, a memory came to him, of sitting by a campfire in the Shadowfell. The rations he had tasted of char and dust, a flavor not unlike what was currently in his mouth. 

Overall, it was an unpleasant sensation that elicited unpleasant memories. The one positive that came from it, the assassin noted, was that his companion’s expression lighted up again.

Entreri turned the “chocolate” about in his hands. He ran his sensitive fingertips along its surface, trying to find some semblance of a familiar silky texture or equally familiar but different coarse texture. The item’s surface was more akin to the latter, but rather than the roughness of a cocoa mixture, it felt more like grains of sand. He sniffed it again. It didn’t smell bad, but it didn’t carry the indulgent richness or sweetness that he’d come to enjoy. Rather, it smelled like charcoal.

“Is it not good?” The drow’s cheery expression began falling into dejected concern.  
  
Entreri forced himself to swallow and tried to smile, but instead all he could do was grimace. “It isn’t the best I’ve had,” he admitted.

Jarlaxle plopped down before him and tilted his head. Entreri lowered his head to wipe his tongue on his sleeve, but in doing so, caught sight of the card again. Jaw setting with resolution, he bit off another piece of the terrible confection.

“Is it any better?” The drow’s posture was a feline ready to pounce. Entreri forced himself to chew, grinding the pieces between his tongue and the roof of his mouth in an attempt to dissolve them. All that he’d succeeded in doing was coating his teeth in particles, a sensation not unlike having sand in his mouth.

“I feel like I’m eating something from a potter’s kiln,” Entreri finally relented. Nonetheless, he stubbornly swallowed his mouthful.

The mercenary held out a hand, into which the assassin placed the hollow cylindrical object. It was missing most of a formerly sealed end, which the assassin had eaten. Both white eyebrows knitted together as Jarlaxle squinted into the darkness of the tube. 

“Wait, there’s something inside…" 

Entreri remembered the rattling he’d heard as two lithe fingers reached into the tube extracted flat object. Both companions leaned in close to see.

"A horse?” The two voices pronounced in unison.

Jarlaxle didn’t resist as Entreri took the small image from him. “Is this another custom of this 'Valiant Times’ holiday?” the assassin asked quizzically.

The drow’s gaze was distant. The perplexed human waved a hand before the ruby eyes.

“I don’t recall anything about a horse…” Jarlaxle’s voice was uncertain.

“Why would he give it to you without telling you about what was inside?”

The drow didn’t immediately answer. In that short pause, Entreri imagined that he could hear the gears spinning in his companion’s head. Before any formulations had a chance to solidify, a swarthy hand shot out and held fast to one slender ebony wrist. Jarlaxle’s smile faltered.

Entreri brandished the “chocolate” at Jarlaxle in the same manner that he’d brandish his jeweled dagger. “What did he say about this?” each of the assassin’s words were punctuated with threat.

“Ah…” Jarlaxle stammered. Entreri’s frigid gaze chilled him. 

“He… didn’t”

“He  _didn’t_?!”

Jarlaxle patted the air with his one free hand. “Peace, my  _abbil_ , I beg–”

“What do you mean, he didn’t? You said that he gave you this to give to me, was that false?”

Jarlaxle didn’t respond. Entreri’s face darkened, and he pulled away from his companion. Understanding immediately, Jarlaxle exclaimed, “NO! No, worry not dear Artemis, I would never allow any harm to come to you. I’ve expended three charges of my Wand of Purify Food and Drink upon this, when one charge would’ve been sufficient. I can assure you with full confidence that it won’t hurt you.”

The assassin continued to glare at the mercenary. 

“Fine, if you won’t believe me–” Jarlaxle reached for the tube. Entreri pulled it out of his reach. The drow blinked with surprise and looked up at the human, relieved to find that his companion’s dark eyes were clearer despite the severe expression that still lingered on his face.

“I would not just feed you anything, my  _abbil,_ ” the mercenary dared.

“Yet, you’d still lie to me about the nature of that which you fed me.”

Jarlaxle sighed and nodded.

“So he did not wish to give this to me?”

The drow shook his head. “He did not wish it to give it at all, or rather, he isn’t aware that he’d given it.”

Comprehension dawned on the assassin. “You took the opportunity to relieve the man of his possessions." 

"Artemis Entreri disapproves of opportunistic acquisitions?”  
  
“Artemis Entreri disapproves of feeding opportunistic acquisitions that have not been properly identified to him,” the chagrined human snapped back.

Jarlaxle’s shoulders fell. “I believed I knew what it was. We spoke of Valiant Times until long past the sun dipped beneath the horizon. His accent was quite difficult to follow, why, at times I doubted he was even speaking Common–”

“You have a trinket that allows you to understand any language."  

"And I was using it! But he must’ve possessed magic of his own, countering magic, perhaps a reward from his god to a loyal servant!” Jarlaxle sighed again. “Alas, that divine magic did not protect his sobriety.” 

“And no deity can protect Jarlaxle’s sanity when he becomes too enamored with an idea.”

Jarlaxle conceded with a sad nod.

Entreri’s attention returned to the object in his palms. “Have you tried using identification magic on it?”

The drow held up both hands helplessly. “Such magic only serves to unravel the mystery of an unknown enchantment, or reveal the nature of the enchantment upon an item. All that my investigations told me was that this item is very much not enchanted.”

The assassin looked up with a quirked eyebrow. “So you did investigate it?”

Jarlaxle’s arms folded again. “Of course." 

Entreri chuckled at the crossness in his companion’s tone. "What led you to believe that it’s chocolate? he asked, much of the steel gone from his tone.

Jarlaxle shrugged. "It was the only logical conclusion.”

Entreri waved for the drow to continue.

“As I’ve told you, my  _abbil_ , we spoke at great length about the nature of the holiday. It is customary during this holiday to bear gifts of the finest chocolates, enclosed within elaborate containers. When I saw this box, I knew it immediately to be one such container, and my suspicion was confirmed when I glanced inside–”

“Glanced inside?” Entreri stopped Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle nodded.

“It could’ve just as easily been a blade, a gem, or a piece of jewelry, wrapped within the silk. Why would you believe that it was chocolate?”

Jarlaxle brought one hand to rub the back of his neck.

Entreri let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head. “Are you always in the habit of opening the gifts that you intend for others?”

Jarlaxle began to respond, but a sudden noise froze both companions. Another noise spurred them to their feet, one blade in each of the assassin’s hands and a throwing dagger poised to fly between the mercenary’s fingertips. The two waited in total silence for countless heartbeats when, finally, they were rewarded with a sight that hardly justified their preparedness. Out from the nearby brush stumbled a disoriented human, messy light brown hair matching rumpled and mud-splattered clothing. His eyes brightened upon seeing the two figures, but then immediately, they widened, and so, too, did his mouth.

“YOU!!!” the disheveled man pointed at Jarlaxle as he howled and charged. 

Entreri began to move forward, but the bedraggled man didn’t take half a score of steps before falling flat onto his face. 

The assassin and the mercenary stood still for many more breaths, waiting for the strange man to right himself. Instead of moving however, muffled sobs rang out from his still form. Entreri looked quizzically at Jarlaxle, and saw embarrassment in the deep red eyes that gazed back at him.

“He seems to have business with you,” Entreri stated.

“Perhaps.” Jarlaxle made no move to approach the prone man. 

The assassin studied the mercenary quietly, all the while Jarlaxle was staring at the sobbing form, discomfort in his expression. The faintest twitch caught Entreri’s keen gaze, and he looked down to see the drow surreptitiously move the image of the horse behind his back.  

“Let us be away then,” Entreri casually suggested.

Jarlaxle roused immediately and beamed. “A splendid idea!” he declared, wheeling on one heel while throwing the other leg out before him, his arms beginning to swing in pace–

But the assassin wasn’t beside him. Gone, too was the small horse image in his fingers.

“Artemis?” Jarlaxle managed, his heart sinking as low as it could go when he saw that the assassin was already at the sobbing man’s side. He watched, dumbfounded, as Entreri knelt and with uncharacteristic gentleness, then coaxed the distraught man up to his knees.

Even his keen elven ears couldn’t discern the words that they exchanged, and he knew that such was the assassin’s intention. No small measure of him willed him to turn and bolt away, especially when he saw the barely perceptible tensing of Entreri’s shoulders, and knew immediately that the assassin had found the truth. However the dread that fixed him to the spot increased evermore in weight as he watched his friend hand the dirt-covered man the small portrait, then even pat the stranger on the shoulder.

“What is your business with him?” Entreri asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder back at Jarlaxle.

“Mishka! He stole my Mishka!” wailed the stranger, in an accent quite unlike any that Entreri had heard before. However, “Mishka”, which he assumed was a name, did remind him of some of what he’d heard people call one another during his time in Damara.

“What is a Mishka?” Entreri asked, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Mishka is my horse!” the stranger’s words were barely comprehensible, especially delivered in between gasps and sobs as they were.

“Not likely. He possesses a steed unlike any, he would have no reason to steal a mundane horse.”

“Mishka  _was_  my horse,” the oddly-dressed man managed to choke out. “I grew up with her, but she died recently.”

“He stole your dead horse?” The wrinkles in the assassin’s forehead deepened.

The disheveled man began nodding furiously, then shook his head, then nodded again. “After Mishka died, I had her cremated, and her ashes were made into a small memento, so that I could always keep her close by my side.”

Entreri had been planning to ask the stranger how he could be certain that Jarlaxle was the thief, but the dawning of a realization, a slow and inexorable one that he wished that he could deny, asserted itself in his mind at the expense of all other thoughts.

“Wait here,” the assassin quietly instructed, and the stranger obediently nodded, having mistaken the quiet for gentleness.

Jarlaxle watched with admiration as Entreri smoothly rose, none of his rage evident in his flowing movements. The drow knew that he was smiling, but he also knew how empty his smile was. He imagined that he could see a dense aura of heat around Entreri, as though he still had his infravision before the transformation of magic over time had changed it. Like an unstoppable, slow-motion fireball, Entreri bore towards him, and Jarlaxle could only stand stock-still, stunned by the overbearing pressure.

“Horse ashes,” Entreri pronounced in a barely audible whisper.

Jarlaxle could only nod, blank smile still affixed on his face.

“Not chocolate. Horse ashes.”

Jarlaxle nodded again.

Entreri procured the “chocolate” that he’d hidden in the folds of his cloak and held it before the mercenary’s eyes.

Jarlaxle nodded a third time.

The assassin’s arm dropped to his side as his chin dropped against his chest. Jarlaxle stared wordlessly, his face beginning to hurt from his facetious smile. For countless heartbeats, all that passed between them were mild breezes, their gentleness tempered by the bite of winter that yet lingered upon them. Then, Entreri’s shoulders began to shake, followed by his arms, then chest. 

Jarlaxle brightened. “Truly, it gladdens me that you’re able to find the humor–” he began.

The assassin’s glare snapped up. Jarlaxle’s smile faded completely. The hand that grabbed him by his collar did so so fast that he wasn’t even aware of it having moved by the time that he felt his feet kicking in the air. 

“Artemis, please–” the mercenary begged, his hands clasping the grip at his throat. “It was an honest mistake!”

Entreri said nothing, instead slamming Jarlaxle against a nearby tree. It wasn’t hard enough to knock the breath out of him, but still Jarlaxle gasped, for the assassin came on so quickly that the next thing he knew, his legs were pinned by the human’s knee, his torso by his companion’s arm. Entreri’s breath was hot against his face, the scent of coal only amplifying the sensation of being scalded by fire. 

“Artemis? What are you going to do with me?”

“Didn’t you say that it’s a holiday for sharing?”

Jarlaxle started to answer, but Entreri’s glare silenced him.

“In the spirit of Valiant Times, I am doing my part in sharing a new experience with my 'cherished one’.” The assassin’s tone was like ice.

The black tube drew closer to Jarlaxle’s mouth.

The mercenary craned his neck as far as it would go. “Please, Artemis, peace, I beg!" 

The tube did not halt its advance.

"Surely you wouldn’t make a heartbroken man watch you feed his childhood friend to the bastard whom robbed him!” Jarlaxle managed to croak around the corner of the black substance that’d already wedged itself between his lips.

Thankfully, the item didn’t penetrate his mouth any further. Although his vision was entirely occluded by his companion’s form, Jarlaxle could hear that the stranger’s sobs had become more subdued. 

The assassin pulled away from the mercenary. “Come with me,” Entreri said, more an order than a request as he headed towards the bedraggled stranger once more. It was the last thing that Jarlaxle wanted to do, but nonetheless, he followed dutifully.

“Good sir, is this what you seek?” Entreri held out the broken tube and the small portrait.

The stranger cried out with a mix of glee and dismay. He snatched the items from the assassin’s hands. “What have you done with Mishka?!”

A heavy hand fell on Jarlaxle’s shoulder. “Please forgive my clumsy friend, good sir. He can be very single-minded when met with curious items. Not unlike a child in a confectionery shoppe, he simply cannot resist the urge to grab the sweetest treat." 

The hand on Jarlaxle’s shoulder gave it a firm squeeze. A firm, painful squeeze. The mercenary winced, but took the cue and nodded earnestly. He started to speak, but an icy glare from the assassin froze the words in his throat.

"Fortunately, he is a simpleton with means. He has learned the error of his ways and will expend some of those means now to recompense you for the injury that he has done onto you.” Entreri’s gaze hardened as he turned it back to Jarlaxle. “Isn’t that right, my  _abbil_?”

Jarlaxle kept his wince inwards, instead nodding enthusiastically. “Quite so!” he exclaimed as he drew a wand from one of his many pockets. Perceiving the hesitation in the drow’s ruby eyes, Entreri coaxed the broken tube and the small portrait from the unkempt man’s hands, placed the portrait within the tube, then held it out beneath Jarlaxle’s raised wand.

The mercenary didn’t speak the command word. Instead, he whispered in his native tongue words that might’ve been birdsong to the stranger’s ears, “ _Truly, my trusted friend, you wound me so, to ask that I expend this much_.”

“Further, as a gesture of goodwill,” Entreri continued as though nothing had sounded but actual birdsong, “My generous friend will provide you with sufficient coin to see that you lack for nothing in your journey home.” The assassin glared at the mercenary. “Is that not so?”

Jarlaxle’s reply was a single word. The item in the assassin’s hands was whole again. Entreri noted with displeasure that the charcoal taste in his mouth yet lingered.

“Your Mishka,” Entreri stated as he handed the stranger the restored tubular object. 

“And your travel expenses,” the assassin added, one palm extended at the mercenary. Jarlaxle frowned but obediently placed a bulging coinpurse in Entreri’s outstretched hand. The assassin bounced the coinpurse before handing it to the disheveled stranger, then returned his empty palm to Jarlaxle. The drow’s frown deepened into a scowl, but again, he wordlessly placed another bulging coinpurse in Entreri’s expectant palm. Entreri repeated the assessing motion, handed the purse to the stranger, and just as Jarlaxle readied a rejoinder, Entreri’s hand didn’t reach for him again. 

Instead, thoroughly ignoring the drow, the two humans walked away, Entreri talking to the stranger with a false familiarity that nonetheless made Jarlaxle uncomfortable. He knew better than to try to follow though, the hard set of Entreri’s shoulders warned him against it, so it was all he could do to watch the assassin point the strange man towards the nearest town.

When Entreri returned, outstretched in his hand was what appeared to be a small piece of metal. 

“What’s this?” Jarlaxle couldn’t help his curiosity.

“Chocolate.”

The drow quirked an eyebrow. “Encased in silver?”

The assassin answered him by peeling away metallic skin that was thinner than parchment to reveal a rich brown bar within.

“For you,” Entreri deadpanned.

Jarlaxle’s ears drooped. “Please, my  _abbil_ , haven’t you punished me enough?”

“I am not like you,” the assassin retorted. “I know exactly the nature of what it is that I’m offering to you. It is chocolate.”

Jarlaxle looked sadly from the offered bar to the assassin’s face, then back again.

“If you truly care about me as much as you claim to care, and value my trust as much as you claim that you do, you would at the very least try this.” Entreri’s voice lacked inflection, as though he were stating an objective fact.

Jarlaxle sighed and begrudgingly accepted the offered item. He squeezed his eyes shut as he bit off a small corner, fully expecting to taste char, soot, and perhaps a hint of meat, but instead…“

The drow’s eyes popped open. It was sweet, rich, and creamy. It was actually chocolate! A wide smile broke over his handsome features. "Ah, my  _abbil_ , truly you are more noble than I! It was wrong of me to have doubted you. Please, accept my most humble apologies." 

The mercenary struck a deep bow, then earnestly ate the rest of the confection. It wasn’t a difficult task at all, for it was truly delicious.

The assassin’s expression was stern even after the drow had finished the last bite. 

"I planned to insist upon your company at a revel I’m to attend tonight,” Jarlaxle began hastily, thinking that he had Entreri’s dishumor figured out. “However, given what has transpired… I shall spare you what you no doubt consider a nuisance.”

A smile broke over the assassin’s grimness. Jarlaxle breathed an internal sigh of relief.

“I must be on my way then, my  _abbil_ ,” the mercenary proclaimed as he threw down his Nightmare figurine. “Have a joyous Valiant Times!”

As Entreri watched the drow fade into the distance, he drew out a small blue and white box, which still contained several bars of the “chocolate” that he’d given Jarlaxle to eat. 

“Indeed,” the assassin whispered with a thin smile to the exquisitely written lettering on the box, pleased that the stranger had told him of both its “explosive” results and its charming name of “Ex Lax”. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading previous years' cards here because I don't know where else to put them. >_>
> 
> This one's from 2017. I didn't do one for 2018.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading previous years' cards here because I don't know where else to put them. >_>
> 
> This one's from 2016.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last Valentine's Day card. This one's from 2014, whew. It was the first Jartemis art I ever did. @_@ Pardon the rough quality, I hadn't done any art for over a decade at around the time I did this drawing. It was also before I'd gotten a tablet, and I'd never been good at color pencils. 
> 
> Despite forgetting to color Jarlaxle's vest and Artemis' skin coming out way too light (and the myriad of other issues I could go on about but won't), I'm still kinda fond of it, if for no other reason than that it reminds me of how the pains of getting used to a tablet was so worth it >_>

**Author's Note:**

> I wonder if I should start a collection for fics that ruin chocolate, since it seems to be a trend with me... >_>
> 
> This one was inspired by this meme: https://imgur.com/gallery/2Ljy3  
> Which doesn't appear to actually be a real custom, but rather an internet phenomenon. Nonetheless, I was asked for Artemis' reaction to being given horse ash chocolate by @AmanitaVirosa, so I decided to go all out for it. :P


End file.
